


Hand in Hand

by EmeryldLuk



Series: Supernatural AU [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death, pagan god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeryldLuk/pseuds/EmeryldLuk
Summary: Layla teams up with Sam and Dean to hunt a Harvest God and nearly dies to save them. It takes Castiel stepping in to bring her back from the brink.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1024764





	1. The River's Edge

_Masquerading as a man with a reason-_

_My charade is the event of the season-_

The rumble of the road masked the sound of the guitar coming in over the radio, the wheels skipping over bumps in the road. A deep bass voice joined in, terribly off tune, but boisterous and unapologetic.

"Dude, stop. You sound horrible." A lighter voice said. There was a ring of familiarity to the tone.

The singer stopped to argue. "C'mon. Not like you've complained before."

"I complain every time I can get away with it. What if she wakes up and hears your horrible voice?"

"My voice is not horrible."

She opened her eyes and saw black leather. She was lying down with her face on a leather covered seat. There was a ringing in her ears.

The car hit a bump, causing her head to bounce. Layla groaned and rolled onto her back.

"Look who's awake."

Sam's square jaw and baby blue eyes came into sight from over the back of the front seat.

"You feeling okay?"

Layla put a hand to her head. "I feel like shit. Where am I?"

"In my car," the other voice said. Layla sat up and saw Dean behind the wheel. He looked at her in the mirror.

"Your car smells like ass."

He laughed.

Layla groaned as her head spun. "How long?"

"Five hours," Sam answered. "That stuff hit you pretty hard."

"No kidding." She groaned as the car went over another bump. "You mind driving straight?"

"Not a flat road, sweetheart."

She looked out the window and saw trees going by as they drove on an old asphalt road. They were passing pine tress and blackberry bushes, pushing through a light fog.

"Do you know what they hit me with?" Layla looked down and felt the bandage taped to her abdomen. "Doesn't even hurt." She started to peel off the tape and choked on a spike of pain. She cringed, "Nevermind."

Sam leaned back, putting his arm over the seats to get a better look at Layla. "Hey, you okay?"

"Peachy. My head hurts and I've been stabbed by who-knows-what."

"Willow dipped in rabbit's blood. Thought it doesn't look like it was enough to kill you." Sam glanced back at the road for a moment.

Layla groaned. "It was enough to do some damage. Where are we headed?"

"Somewhere safe," Dean answered. "Quit moving so much and buckle up."

She fumbled for the seat belt. The car rocked going over a series of pot holes.

There was a smell, light and fluffy, and then suddenly a man wearing a tan trenchcoat appeared in the back seat next to Layla. She flinched back and immediately felt her insides start burning. She melted into the corner with a whimper.

"Dean, I need to- you." Castiel stopped on Layla, conflict in his eyes. "You-"

"Touch me, Angels," Layla threatened, "and I will burn you alive."

Castiel's jaw clenched and unclenched.

Dean glanced back. "Cass, what do you need?"

"We need to talk," Castiel grumped. "Preferably without the Aberration."

"Well tough. She stays."

Castiel shot a glower at Layla. She winced as they hit more bumps.

"I think I found something, but I can't get close to it. It's warded against angels."

"Well, this something is going to have to wait." Sam motioned to Layla. "She's needs help."

"You are helping the Aberration?" Castiel inquired.

Layla groaned and snapped, "The Aberration has a name."

Castiel glared at her. "If it were not the boys' wishes, I would end your existence for the good of the cosmos."

"Yup."

Dean slowed down to take a turn. The wheels rumbled onto packed dirt. Layla squeezed her eyes shut with a moan, curling in on herself.

"Where are we?" Castiel asked as Dean came to a stop in a dusty lot packed with broken down cars and trucks.

"Somewhere safe," Dean grumbled. The engine cut and he got out.

Layla unbuckled and fumbled for the door handle. The door abruptly opened and she fell sideways.

"Woah, there." Dean caught her with an arm around her shoulders. "Take it easy. I got you."

He helped her up, but her legs barely held her weight. Dean put his arm around her back and scooped her up by the knees.

Sam moved in front of him, going past all the cars and up to the ranch house to open the door.

"You should not be helping this woman," Castiel advised. "She is a plague on the world and a danger to us all."

Sam opened the door for Dean and frowned at Castiel. "Cass, drop it. She's our friend and nearly died helping us."

Dean slid past his brother and carried Layla into the house. He bellowed, "Bobby?"

Layla muttered, asking to be put down. Dean stepped around a cluttered table and laid her down on a couch that smelled like smoke and beer.

"Bobby!"

"Keep it down, ya Idjit." A grumpy older man stomped down the stairs, wiping his hands on a towel. "What's with all the hollering?"

"We need help. You still have that whiskey in the fridge?"

"Boy, when do I not? What is going on?"

Dean ran into the kitchen for the alcohol while Sam took off his jacket in the living room.

"She was stabbed," Sam explained, "but the wound isn't healing right."

Layla tried to sit up and stopped, propped up on her elbow as her head began to spin. "You might want to mention me not being human, Sam."

"Down," both him and Dean ordered. Dean walked over with a glass and a bottle of bottom shelf whiskey. Layla glared at him.

"It tastes like crap, but it'll help with the pain," Dean said, pouring out a shot's worth. He gave her the glass.

Bobby rolled up his sleeves. "Sam, explain everything. I'll take a look."

Layla threw back the whiskey and almost gagged. "Gods that is horrible."

"Lay down, young lady, and try not to move too much."

Layla squinted up at Bobby and asked, "Do I know you?"

"Doubt it. I'd remember meeting a girl like you. Lay down so I can take a look."

Layla dropped onto her back on the couch. "Well, I feel like we've met. Alabama?"

"Nope." Bobby cautiously peeled off the bandage on her stomach. Layla hissed, clenching a fist tight around the corner of the couch cushion. He grimaced.

Bobby said, "Definitely infected. Dean, you got the- yes that." He took a bottle and gauze from Dean. Wetting a sheet of gauze he dabbed at the wound. Layla flinched.

"Hold still." Bobby pressed a cloth to the wound. "Not human. What were you stabbed with?"

"Willow," Layla mumbled. She licked her lips. "Willow and rabbit's blood?"

Sam confirmed her statement, gaining him an odd look from Bobby.

"That sounds an awful lot like a God killing weapon to me, Sam."

"Because it is," She said, looking over at him. "I definitely know you. New York?"

Bobby frowned down at her. "Dean, get me the sewing kit. Sam, start talking."

Layla closed her eyes for a moment. Sam was talking; telling Bobby about her, about the fight."

Two Days Ago

"Thank you," Layla said to the tall and skinny bartender as she shut her notebook. "If you hear anything, let me know?" She dug out a business card and slid it across the counter.

"What if I don't hear anything?" The guy asked with a sly grin.

"Then don't call." She picked up the notebook and walked away. A pot bellied man in a biker's jacket smirked up at her over his beer.

"Smile for me, honey?"

Layla turned on her toes and slammed her fist into the guy's face. He sputtered and fell out of his chair. His beer broke as it bounced off his chair onto the floor.

"There's your smile," She snapped and kept going.

Outside, she lit up a cigarette and took a drag. The sky cracked and opened up. Raindrops hit her shoulders. Layla stood there a moment longer and then ground out the cigarette in the nearby trash can.

It was a small town. The motel was only a block away, so she only had to walk for a couple of minutes in the sudden downpour. The clerk looked up from his newspaper when she walked in.

"Need a towel?" He asked.

"I'll be good. You got any local delivery menus?"

The man pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it over. Layla took it and went to her room.

After locking the door, Layla emptied her pockets. She was tired and needed a break after searching the town for information. She called out for a pizza and pasta off the menu and stepped in the shower.

She settled on the bed with her notes and news clippings spread out around her later, with the pizza on the pillow.

She was looking into a series of missing people; young men in their twenties that came through every summer with their girlfriends and never make it out of town. No one ever found bodies.

It was a nice enough town with a lively night life. The people she had talked to couldn't imagine anyone being able to kill another person. They spoke well of their neighbors, even the police. It bothered Layla.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings. She licked the grease from her fingers and got up from the bed.

She peered through the peephole. Brown hair and a clean shave wearing a brown jacket over plaid stood in front of her door. She could see the shadow of someone just out of sight. She put a hand on the door and rested her head.

"What do you want Winchester?"

"To talk," He answered. "The guy at the bar said you were asking about missing people."

"Hang on a sec." Layla stepped away to grab her jacket and then unlocked the door. Dean Winchester grinned at her.

"Looking good, Layla."

"Shove it. Come in if you want."

Dean grunted and walked in past her. Sam entered behind him.

"So, dig anything up?" Dean picked up one of the newspaper clippings.

Layla shut the door and strode over, snatching the paper out of his hand. "What do I look like, a possum. Of course I dug stuff up. What are you two even doing here?"

"Same as you, we think. Young men going missing every summer in this area," Sam explained. "We were thinking maybe vampires."

"Well, you're wrong, and I don't want help." She folded her arms. "I don't work with humans."

Dean frowned. "Are you racist?"

"Nope. You've seen what I can do. Humans are fragile. Die real easy. So, hit the road."

Sam sat down in the chair. "We're not like other humans."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," she sneered, "you have angel buddies."

"That is not what I meant."

"It's what it sounds like. Do you think you're the first people to think just because you've got experience it makes you different? My first partner was a human. He died bloody at the hands of a demon. And he was experienced, in his fucking prime. I've seen good people crushed, shot, burnt, hacked up and torn to pieces. You are not special."

She was surprised at how loud she had become at the end of her rant. Her voice cracked. Dean was staring and Sam looked like someone had put itching powder in his underwear.

Layla took a breath. She resumed in a calmer tone. "Look, you mean well, but I don't play well with others. It's as simple as that."

"Then what about your friends," Dean asked slowly. "Alice and Jack and that other guy."

Layla sat on the second bed with a groan. "That was- was different. They weren't human."

"Alice was," Sam said. "Being a witch doesn't make her invincible."

"Alice." Layla slumped. "She was strong in her own way and resourceful. It was different."

"Well, we're not your average hunters," Dean said. "We've killed dozens of demons like Lilith and Azaezal. I've been to Hell and back. We don't die easy."

She let out a low sigh and looked up at each of them for a long time. "Fine. Your funeral."

"Great, so what do you know?"

Layla briefed, "The missing people all vanish in the months of June and July. Prime vacation months, but its also right before the harvest. You guys thought vampires, but there's nothing that tracks with the usual signs of vampires. I've been talking to folks in town and this place is an agricultural hub. There's an old church on the city limits that no one uses anymore."

Layla pulled out the city map she'd bought earlier and laid it out. She tapped the spot on the map. "Locals don't go there. Rumors are that it was used as a temple back in the 1700's, before the town turned Christian. Now it's a bit of a scenic tourist location. Bit of history for travelers to go look at. I'm betting that's how they go missing."

"So, you're thinking this is a pagan god? Like the ones you torched?" Dean took a closer look at the map. "Do you know which one?"

She shook her head and sat back. "Not yet. I was going to go take a look at the church tomorrow morning."

"Why don't we go tonight?"

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Layla swore at Dean. "This thing goes after young men in their twenties. Exactly what you are. No one is going there at night, much less the dinner plate."

"You really like to order people around." He complained.

"When you've been hunting monsters for seventy years, feel free to do the same." She let out a groan. "Now, I am tired. I want to finish eating and get some rest. I will see you in the morning. Out."


	2. Don't Touch

Present

Layla could hear Bobby berating the boys in the other room through her sedated haze. Bobby had done what he could and cleaned up the wound, stitched it up and re bandaged it, but none of that had taken away the pain or the migraine.

Castiel stood like a statue in the corner, furious eyes fixed on Layla as if it were his duty to keep an eye on her. She looked at him a couple times and then laid her head back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm not going anywhere, Angel," she muttered.

"That's my worry."

"Pfff-urg. You Angels. So straight laced its hilarious. Ow."

He tilted this head. "You have spoken with angels before?"

"Once or twice. I've been around awhile." Layla coughed.

"I would have heard if that were the case."

"1956, 1958, 1974," Layla listed. "Only got the name of the second one. Abraham."

He stepped closer. "Abraham went missing. Was that you?"

Layla started to laugh, but it quickly turned into coughs. Once the fit passed, she answered, "That was my wife, Amelia. You would have hated her."

"Your wife?"

"That's what I said."

"How did your Wife kill an angel?"

Layla started coughing again. She pressed a hand to her mouth and it came away bloody. "Fuck."

"Don't make me ask again," Castiel warned.

"Everything alright in here?" Sam asked, looking in.

"Fine," Layla croaked.

He frowned at her. "You don't sound fine."

"Well, I am fine." Layla coughed once into her hand. "Not like I didn't get stabbed."

Sam nodded and then looked twice at Castiel. "Cass, what's with the frown? Lighten up."

"So long as you harbor this creature, I will not 'lighten up' as you say. We should finish killing it and go."

Layla rolled her eyes. "Charming."

"You never answered my question," Castiel growled.

"Amelia, she was a fallen angel. Had one of your special knives." She lurched coughing again. "Does that answer your question?"

Sam excused himself to get a cup of water. Castiel twitched.

"A fallen angel named Amelia? Never heard of her."

She turned on her side, coughing hard.

Sam came back and pushed the glass of water on her. "Drink."

The glass came away half full and bloody as she was overcome with a fit. Sam swore.

"Bobby!" Sam tried to steady Layla.

He rushed in. "Turn her on her side. Don't need her choking on her own blood."

Sam rolled her over. "What's wrong? I thought you patched her up."

Bobby gave him a look. "She's a God. I did what I could, damnit."

"Cass, help?" Sam tightened his hold on Layla as she seized up.

Castiel moved back. "Not in a thousand years."

"Cass!"

"I will not help an Aberration."

Dean growled. "Either help or get lost, because she is a frickin person, not an Aberration!"

Castiel flinched.

"In fact, if you would get off your bloody high horse, you'd see that she's not just another monster to kill," Dean rumbled on. "You'd see she's doing her damnedest to live her life and help the best she can! So, do something already and frickin help!"

The Previous Day

"Well that was a waste of time," Dean complained as he parked outside the burger joint. The car door creaked and slammed behind him. "All we know is it was the first church built in this town and it used to be a farming town."

"I always knew you lacked brains, but I guess, Sam really did get the whole bucket," Layla quipped, following him into the greasy atmosphere.

"Excuse you?"

She took a seat in the corner. "Did you see the glyphs? Celtic."

"Is that what they were?" He went to the counter and ordered a burger and fries.

She set her bag on the table and pulled out a camera. Dean came back with a tray and ran a finger over the engraved design on the satchel. The leather was cracked around the edges but overall in good condition.

"This looks old."

She muttered, "As old as I am." She clicked through the photos she had taken at the church.

"And how old is that exactly?" He started in on his burger.

"Depends on which document you look at."

"Birth Certificate," he declared through a mouthful of bread and bacon.

"September Fourth, 1914."

He stopped, squinting at her while licking grease off his thumb. "You're kidding."

"Half God half demon remember? I don't age like the rest of you. I'll be looking young and spry for another three hundred years most likely, if not longer. Hey, what does this look like to you?" She turned the camera around.

Dean leaned in for a look at the picture on the screen. "Looks like a pitchfork wielding figure."

"No, the part under that." Layla rolled her eyes. He took another look.

"Is that a name?"

She took the camera back. "I think so, but it's hard to make out. How's the burger?"

He shrugged. "Average. Bread's a bit dry. Okay, so Celtic Harvest Diety. Not ringing any bells?"

"I know Greek, not Celtic."

"Then how do you recognize the style?"

"I did my studies. I'm hungry." She got up and went to order food. Sam came in the next moment and joined Dean at the table.

"Alright," Sam said when Layla sat back down with two large portions of fries and a coke. "I did some digging in the library in the next town over. The original pilgrims traveled here from Ireland and Scotland. They were a close knit group. Most of the buildings from back then are gone, remodeled or destroyed in tornados. This is Kansas."

"Any of them still standing?" Layla asked between bites. Dean gave her a funny look as she scarfed up fries.

"Besides the church? There's a farm house out in the middle of nowhere. A museum in town. Used to be a blacksmith's up until fifty years ago. That's it."

Layla nodded thoughtfully.

"Farmhouse," Dean proclaimed. "Harvest God, Farmhouse. Makes sense to me."

"Agreed." Layla cleaned her plate. "Can you boys find out how to kill this God? I'm going to go scope the place out."

"On your own?"

"I am not taking bait with me. This is recon only."

"We know our jobs," Dean insisted.

"Whatever. Someone needs to find out how to kill this thing."

Sam nodded. "I'll do it. You two go check the place out."

"Whenever you're ready, Dean," Layla said.

Dean finished eating and stood up. Layla put away her camera and followed him out.

Layla looked over her area map in the car while Dean drove down the dirt road.

"Turn right on Washington."

The radio buzzed for a moment as they slowed down for the turn. Then the sound of Brittany Spears came through clear as ever. Layla glared at the radio for a second and it shut off. Dean looked at the console and then at Layla.

"What the Hell?"

She hid in the map. He hit buttons but the radio only crackled.

"What. The. Hell. Did you break my baby?"

"No."

"Well, my radio ain't working!"

"I am not listening to that crap."

"Turn it off then. You didn't need to break it."

Layla went quiet. Then she looked out at the road. "Turn left up ahead."

He did so.

They drove in silence except for Layla telling him where to turn and stop.

"There it is." Layla pointed to the house along side the road and Dean hit the brakes. "Looks cozy."

It was a one story building made of planks and reeds. The only sign of the modern world was the electric lamp post that illuminated a rough beaten path up to the front door. Though the grass grew tall, it was neat and orderly as if someone regularly maintained the land and home. A farmland spread out on the other side of the house.

"Doesn't look like anyone lives here," Dean mused. "Let's go in."

"Do you want to become dinner?"

Dean looked at her sideways. "Do you have to be so condescending?"

"You're the one that's always rushing in despite being the exact type this god goes for." She reached up and adjusted the mirror so she could look into it. "Just because it looks empty, doesn't mean it is."

Her eyes turned black and the mirror fogged over. An image of a fire pit with a cauldron hanging over it filled her mind. The image rotated, showing the rest of the inside like a slow moving camera.

She blinked and her eyes returned to normal. Dean though was staring at her with a crook in his smile.

"What?"

"Your eyes," he stammered.

"Oh, right." She got out of the car and started walking up to the house. Dean swore and rushed to open his door.

"What is it? Your demon half?" he whispered.

"You could say that." Layla didn't look back. She pulled out her knife and stalked up to the door. There was no noise inside. A wreath hung on the door that smelled faintly like wheat and poppy. Layla pinched her nose and pushed the door open.

The inside smelled like the cooking stew. The orange glow threw shadows over the walls and the empty dinner table.

"Like I said. No one's home." Dean strolled right in, eyes scanning the walls. Layla picked up one of the clay jars on the mantle piece and took a sniff. She smelled char and iron.

"What do you think is in the stew?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Human flesh," Layla murmured, bending down to inspect the floor. It was flat dirt, woven with old plant matter.

Dean gagged. "That's disgusting."

"It's what they do, the old farts." She put away her knife and moved to take a look at the hearth. "They don't even consider the options."

Dean looked up at the growl in her throat. She was running her fingers over the bricks in the back. He shrugged and turned to face the door. He heard a creaking noise, as if the door were swinging on old hinges, but it remained as it was.

"Layla?"

She hummed in response, rubbing dirt between her fingers.

"Something's not right."

"You think so?" she wise-cracked.

"I'm being serious here," he burst, turning half way. Before he could say or do anything else, a thick root thrust up out of the dirt and slammed him into the table. Layla whirled, knife flying into her hand. The root hit fast as lightning, throwing her into the side of the cauldron. The heat burned through her shirt and scalded her skin.

Dean scrambled to his feet, only to be pulled off them by a tendril around his ankle. His head banged off the ground as he was yanked up. His knife bounced across the dirt.

Layla rolled to her feet, burn marks already fading. She twisted her hand in a throwing motion. Dean's knife jumped off the dirt and sliced through the plant holding him upside-down. He fell back down with a grunt.

More tendrils sprouted, growing in the blink of an eye. Layla pushed a few of them away, but more grew in their place, wrapping up her legs and then her arms. The roots pulled her into a kneeling position with her hands pulled back.

More grew to restrain Dean, and then a hand pushed the door all the way open. The man that stepped through had long golden hair down his back. He didn't crouch to get through the doorway, yet he seemed to tower over the, He wore a run down vest over bare muscle and a red, plaid kilt. He leaned an oaken staff in the corner and glowered down on them.

"I do not appreciate intrusion," He said, his voice rumbling over the walls. "Especially scum."

Dean tried to laugh. "Sorry about that. We got turned around on the road and were looking for directions."

"Likely story, demons."

Layla strained against her bonds. "Not demons."

"I saw your eyes." He stepped over Dean. "Black as the pit you crawled out of."

Layla smirked. "Oh, maybe a little, but him? Human to the bone. Really."

Behind his back, Dean's knife floated into his palm. Dean started to feel the smooth wood in his fingers. He glanced up, but the god didn't look down at him. He turned the knife in his grip and began sawing at the plants holding him.

The god checked his stew with a critical eye. Layla twisted, feeling a cramp grow in her left calf.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned. "I could snap you in two."

"Wouldn't kill me," Layla grunted. "It would hurt like a bitch though."

He picked up a ladle and stirred the pot. "If you're not a demon, why do you look like one?"

Layla glanced at Dean to confirm he was working his way through his bindings. "My father was a demon. I inherited his power. Makes hunting creeps like you easy, though. How many have you killed?"

"Killed? No, they were sacrifices." He knelt to look right in her eyes. "Used to be, the locals would offer something up: the outcasts, the weak, the deformed. I even accepted the odd goat in old times. Now, I have to find my own. A few people die and the town thrives. Is that so bad?"

A wooden crack interrupted them. About to break free, Dean found himself bound once more, but more tightly.

The god clicked his tongue and picked up the dropped knife. "Now, now. This'll be easier if you stop fighting."

"Bite me," Dean snapped.

"I plan on it," The god promised. He set the knife on the table.

Layla hit him with a roar. The tendrils that had held her down disintegrated instantly.

He reeled, holding his jaw. Layla lunged in, hitting him a second time. He smashed through the table.

The god looked up at her in fury. "How dare you attack a god."

"Bitch." Layla summoned flames to her fist. "I really wanted to do this clean."

A thick branch broke through the wall of the house and skewered Layla like a kabob. The flames vanished as she choked. The branch flexed, dragging her outside and flinging her into the air. She landed with a soggy crunch in the field of corner a hundred meters out.


	3. Chapter 3

1994, St. Paul, Minnesota

"Hey, where's the beer?"

"Exactly where it's supposed to be."

Dark and moody looking, Jack leaned into vision of the couch where Layla lounged on the couch in front of the television.

"No, it's not."

She tapped out the ashes from her cigarette on the ash tray and raised her eyebrows at him. "Did you look in the fridge?"

"What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

"A handsome one," she answered. "I put it in the fridge so look again."

"Fine." He pulled himself back around the corner.

Layla kept watching the football game. She didn't really care for the sport, but it was on and Jack liked pretending they were normal. Didn't change that the owners of the house were tied up in the basement, or that they had warded the house against unwanted surprises. But they could pretend for a night.

Jack came back with two open bottles of beer and sat down on the couch next to her. She took a bottle and scooted closer. He put an arm around her shoulders.

"It was hidden behind the ham," he whispered in her ear. His lips brushed her skin. She giggled.

"Oh, so that's where I put it." She grinned and curled into his side. He gulped down his beer.

"Which color are we cheering for?" He asked softly.

"Blue and white," She decided after a second.

"Any particular reason?"

"Nope."

Present Day

When Castiel touched Layla, she blacked out for a moment. Light rippled through her body, searing the toxins from her bloodstream.

Castiel moved back, stoic. He frowned down on Layla as her eyelids fluttered. He then turned his frown on Dean. "Happy?" he asked. "She'll live."

"Yes, I am happy. Thank you."

"You will regret this," Castiel muttered and stormed out.

Sam gave Dean a look. His eyebrows climbed and his chin came down. Dean scrunched up half his face and threw his hands up. Sam motioned to the door and jerked his nose in that direction. Dean rolled his eyes.

The screen door clanged shut and boots stomped down the steps. Castiel leaned on an '89 truck missing it's wheels by the side of the driveway. He had his hands in his pockets and the grumpy look on his face might as well have been carved out of stone.

"Look, Cass," Dean began with his hands out.

"Don't look me, Dean." Cass said. "You asked for it."

"Have you stopped to think this through?" Dean hissed. "She could be exactly what we need to stop the apocalypse. Think about it, Cass. You're so dead set on ending her that you haven't even considered what she can do."

Castiel's eye twitched. "Aberrations are evil to the bone. What do you even know about this one?"

"I know she's tough as nails. Born in 1914 and been fighting monsters for most of her life. I know she's annoying and bossy, but she could have left me and my brother for God chow last night and didn't. In fact, she did all she could to keep us from getting ourselves killed."

"One instance changes nothing."

Dean was in Castiel's face now. Inches between them. "I watched her kill other Gods a couple months back. The whole room was in flames in an instant."

"So you understand how dangerous she is."

"No, I understand she can kill Lucifer without sweating it."

Castiel and Dean stood there, staring each other down, for an age before either gave way.

"Maybe," Castiel allowed. "Maybe. But is it worth it?"

"Hell yeah," Dean exclaimed. "No epic battle. No being angel vessels. No apocalypse. What's not worth it about that?"

"The fact that black flames are the kind of thing that could tear creation apart. They're not a gift from God or Hell, Dean. It's a mistake."

"A mistake we can use."

Castiel turned away, not willing to look Dean in the eyes.

Layla slowly came to, wrenching herself miserably out of her sweeter memories. Sam helped her to sit up.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I drank the entire liquor store. What did you give me?"

"We didn't," Sam said. "Cass healed you."

"What!" Layla shoved off him, stumbling to find her balance. "You let that feathery bastard touch me?"

Sam caught himself on the arm of the couch. Bobby steadied him and argued, "You were dying and there was nothing any of us could do. You should be saying thank you, not yelling at us for it."

Layla braced herself on the bookshelf. "Whatever. It explains why I feel hungover. Haven't felt like this in decades."

"Great." Bobby went to the fridge for a beer. "So, you're a demi-god or something?"

"Name's Layla. Half God, half demon. Anyone got a cigarette?"

"No. Wait, Layla?"

She dropped into the cushioned armchair. "Yeah, that's what I said."

Bobby pointed at Sam with his beer. "You guys came across a chick named Layla a couple years back. The one with the monster friends."

Sam nodded. "Same one. Oh, right, you said you had a run-in with someone named Layla awhile back."

"Not that I can remember what the hell happened." Bobby squinted at Layla. "You wouldn't have happened to be in Arravelle, Wyoming twenty years ago?"

"Wyoming," She muttered. "Wyoming. Oh, right. You were that fake US Marshall that insisted on working a hunt with me."

"I was?"

"Don't beat yourself up about it. I wiped everyone's memories back then."

"So, my notes about you killing three people?"

She shrugged. "They were going to kill you. I killed them first. Then," she made a face, "you freaked on me. So I erased your memory."

"How?"

Layla found the pack of cigarettes in her jacket pocket and groaned; The pack was soaked with her blood. "Seriously, I need a light."

Bobby said, "What you need is rest."

She glowered at him and stumbled her way into the kitchen. Several bottles of alcohol sat on the table. Layla leaned as she picked them up one at a time until she decided on the half empty bottle of vodka. She opened the bottle and chugged half of what was left.

"Hey, take it easy," Bobby protested, snatching the bottle out of her hand. "This is no time to be getting drunk."

Layla lost her balance for a second, falling into the chair.

Five Hours Ago

Layla gasped as her bones cracked and grated, fusing themselves back together. She could taste metal in her mouth.

Light flashed over the grass. Layla tried to get up and felt her arm fix itself. She choked on the pain.

She slowly found her feet in the field of prairie grass. A pattern had been pressed down, showing how she had been thrown from the innocent looking house meters away. The light from the street lamp shone over wet dark patches on the ground.

A yell rang out. Layla squinted, trying to see in the dark. The lights blurred, gaining halos for a moment. She eased her eyes closed and touched the side of her head. She could feel the stickiness in her hair.

When her vision cleared, Layla started towards the house. She could hear someone screaming.

"Don't you touch him," she heard him yell in a fit of rage. She wondered if it was Dean and then saw the car parked behind hers.

"Shit," Layla groaned and made her way up to the door. On the other side, the neat interior had been ravaged by vines and tree roots. Jars were overturned and broken on the dirt floor. She put her hand to her hair again, dragging her fingers through the wet strands.

Dean hung from the ceiling, tied up in roots, his shirt torn open and a deep scratch down his chest. He was yelling still at the god with long yellow hair. Sam hung next to him in the same manner, only with five extra gouges in his skin.

"Told you to leave him alone!" Dean snarled.

Sam breathed, "Dean, stop it."

The god laughed victory. "No worries, handsome. You're a bit old for my taste, but I'll get to you eventually."

"You're dead meat when I get free," Dean growled, struggling against his bonds.

"If you get free," The god corrected. "And even then, I'll just restrain you again. Poor hunters. Thinking you could kill me. So many have tried over the centuries."

"Always room for a first."

"Dean." Sam turned best he could.

"Shut up, Sam. I will not go down without a fight."

"Dean."

"What?"

"She's back."

Everyone in the room turned to look at Layla. She frowned. The god grinned.

"Not a demon after all," he said, mildly impressed. "Demons wouldn't heal like that."

"I wasn't lying." Layla rolled her neck. "Demon blood, that's all. So, what now?"

The god licked a bloody finger. "Depends on you. Walk away. I don't go for girls."

Layla shook her head. "First place, I'm not a girl. I'm ninety years old. Second, they're the ones that wanted to walk into this death trap in the first place. Third, I hate old farts like you that are addicted to human meat."

"What are you?"

"Angry and bloody and tired of watching people die." Layla mimed with one hand, sending knives flying at the god. He knocked down the projectiles and threw a needle sharp vine her way. Layla dodged aside.

Her foot slipped in a pool of goo. She hit the ground, glass stabbing into her arm.

"Look out!"

She rolled aside and roots lashed over the ground.

He grabbed the cleaver and charged at Layla. She ducked and weaved around the table.

Sam somehow got loose, dropping weakly to his knees. Layla risked a glance his way and got wacked in the arm for it. She yelled, jolting back into the cabinet. Sam crawled forward, his fingers wrapping around a wooden stake.

He yelled, lunging with the stake at the god. The god turned, knocking Sam down. The stake clattered out of his hand, bouncing up to Layla's boot.

Layla scooped up the stake and charged. The god started to turn, throwing off her aim so she struck his shoulder instead of his heart.

The god took hold of her arm with one meaty hand and slowly pried the stake out of his shoulder. Layla pulled, but his strength matched hers. She clenched her free hand into a fist.

"I didn't want to do this," she said. "They'll notice. I hate running."

The god gloated, "Then why don't you take a nice long nap."

Root tendrils pierced her like spears from the back, holding her in place. Layla choked, feeling the blood filling her lungs. The god grinned and stabbed her in the stomach with the stake. Pain flooded her mind unlike anything else.

Flames rushed up from her fist, turning the god into ash the same as the roots and the stake, but the holes stayed. Layla stood there a moment, feeling split between walking out the door and falling down on her face.

Present Day

Layla sat in the chair, waiting for her head to clear up. Sam made his way outside after a couple of quiet exchanges with Bobby. Then the grumpy old man grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink.

"What happened all those years ago?" he asked.

She sighed. "Does it matter?"

"Matters to me, so spill."

Layla ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out bits of dried blood. "I need a shower."

"That I can agree on. First, I expect an explanation."

"Aravelle, Wyoming, 1986," Layla began. "People were going missing. You showed up after me and you took me for a hunter like yourself. Lucky you my boyfriend was out of town."

"Did we?"

"No." Layla cut him short with a glare. "He'd have killed you on principal. I wouldn't have argued too much in the end. Anyway, turned out to be vampires. Pretty standard raid. Problem was, some of the nest were out hunting. They got back and saw you first."

"And that's when you crushed their skulls?" When she shot him a look, he explained, "I had notes."

Layla nodded. "Of course you turned on me. I don't blame you for that. Anyway, I knocked you out and carried you back to the hotel room."

Bobby tossed back the rest of his glass. "I remember waking up and thinking I'd gone on another bender."

"Better than you remembering about me. I've had my fair share of hunters trying to kill me."

The door opened, issuing in the three men. Dean and Sam still looked like they'd been in a scrap and Castiel wrinkled his nose at the sight of Layla.

"You touch me again, Feathers-"

"Next time will be to kill, I promise," Castiel snapped and turned to Dean. "Now that the Aberration is fine, can you help me with my problem?"

Dean asked, "How are you feeling, Layla?"

"Like I got wasted last night, but fine." Layla pointed with her thumb at Castiel. "Angel hands hurt like a bitch, but after a bit of rest and alcohol, I'll be back to normal."

"Great. Then we'll go help Cass with his thing and when we get back, you and I are going to talk."

Bobby growled, "You're not just going to dump her here?"

"Bobby, she's a friend. We'll be back soon."

"This is not a hotel."

"Didn't tell you to be a host, just put her up on the couch for a day." Dean clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder and strolled back outside.

"Bollocks," Bobby grunted, pouring himself more whiskey.

Layla sat back as they left and then asked, "You got a shower I can use?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for waiting. Took me awhile to get back to this and polish out the ending. I am currently finishing up the next section which takes place right after this.


End file.
